


birds of prey one shot collection

by Anonymous



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, Gen, One Shot Collection, Shopping, Thanksgiving, The Birds (and Harley) being weirdly decent parental figures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Just for the record, don't expect quality from these. It's mostly just writing practice, I don't plan on putting much thought into any of it. That being said, I hope you enjoy.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dinah Lance, Cassandra Cain & Harleen Quinzel, Helena Bertinelli & Dinah Lance, Helena Bertinelli & Dinah Lance & Harleen Quinzel
Kudos: 33
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> Just for the record, don't expect quality from these. It's mostly just writing practice, I don't plan on putting much thought into any of it. That being said, I hope you enjoy.

“Hey Harley,” Cass calls. The addressed whirls her head around, holding a jar of Nutella with a spoon sticking out of it.

“Yeah?” Her mouth is still full of Nutella. Cass makes no comment.

“You should take me shopping sometime.”

Harley raises her eyebrows. “Shopping? Like, actually shopping or shop _lifting?”_

Cass shrugs. “All the same to me, although it might be nice not to be chased out of the store for once.”

“Lame!” announces Harley, and by some maneuver she has gone from vertical to horizontal on the couch. 

“Not happening,” cuts in a third voice. Cass and Harley both turn to see Dinah walking into the room. “Cass, Harley is _not_ taking you shopping.”

Harley makes a face of dissent. “Why not?” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t try and pretend your style is anywhere close to anything that wouldn’t get Cass in detention on her first day. She’s starting highschool, you know.”

“I didn’t need a reminder, thanks,” mutters Cass. Admittedly, her starting highschool had been the entire reason she’d wanted to go shopping. Not like she’d ever say as much. 

“But Can _ary_ ,” pleads Harley, “I’ll be reasonable! Pinkie swear.” She holds out her pinkie for Dinah to take. Then, when Dinah does no such thing, “It’s not like _your_ style’s any better in that department.”

“True,” allows Dinah, “but I would never force it on our dear Cass, and you can’t argue with that.”

Thus, it’s settled: Dinah is to take Cass shopping for clothing which the presumably mean kids at the highschool she’s going to could potentially deem _cool_ . Helena offers her credit card, and though it takes twenty minutes of _I’m a fucking billionare Dinah, take the fucking money Dinah_ she finally accepts (albeit reluctantly). 

“Alright,” says Dinah once they’re on the road. “So, what kind of a style we goin’ for here?” 

Cass considers this. 

“Huh. I don’t know. I guess that’s why you’re here.” 

“And because I’m an adult with a driver's license,” adds Dinah helpfully. 

“That, too.” 

The more Cass tries to think about what kind of a style she wants to adopt, the more lost she becomes. _What do the kids even consider cool these days?_ It’s certainly beyond her.

“Well, what do you think?” Cass hardly ever turns to adults for their opinions on things, but Dinah is a cool adult so she figures it’s an alright exception to make. 

Dinah studies her, and a crease forms between her brows. “Hmm. I guess we’ll just have to try some stuff on, yeah?”

Cass nods her agreement.

First, they stop at a Fancy Footwear. Cass thinks that Fancy Footwear is lame. Dinah maintains that even lame stores can sometimes have cool clothes. Dinah’s the one with the credit card and Cass has been told that pickpocketing is no longer an acceptable pastime so she agrees to check it out. 

“Okay,” declares Dinah once they’ve walked through the door, hands on her hips and chin upturned just slightly. Such a demeanor makes it seem like she owns the place. “So, I’m guessing you don’t want anything neon pink or excessively sparkly.” 

Cass shakes her head violently.

“Sit here,” Dinah commands, patting one of the little benches. She’s so authoritative about the matter; Cass can tell that she takes her shopping very, very seriously, so she obliges. 

Dinah disappears into the isles and reappears with four boxes (not before measuring Cass’s feet with that weird, metal foot-measurey thing). 

“Combat boots!” she declares, throwing down a shoebox presumably full of, well, combat boots. “Vans! Converse! Aaaand a wildcard.” For each option she produces a shoebox. “What first?” 

“Wildcard!” Cass tears open the wildcard box with enthusiasm and vigor. At first glance, they seem like regular black athletic shoes, which is a look Cass feels she can get behind. She would have expected something more exciting from the term _wildcard,_ though. Then she turns the shoes to see, in bright yellow, the Batman logo. “They have Batman shoes? Ugh, where are the Birds of Prey shoes?” 

At this, Dinah gives a hearty laugh. “I really don’t know, kid. I guess that comes later.” 

“I guess.” 

In the end, it’s a hard choice between the Vans and the combat boots. Cass ends up choosing the Vans. The boots are cool, but the checkered Vans are really more her style. Dinah ends up paying for it herself instead of using Helena’s credit card, a decision which Cass knows the former will chastise her for later.

Next they head to an Aeropostale. Like Fancy Footwear, Aeropostale seems a bit lame. Cass feels like she’s walking into some basic straight white teenage girl emporium which, frankly, is a little terrifying. She perseveres, though. 

Dinah scrutinizes a gray crop hoodie. “Hum. You’re only thirteen, is it okay to get you into the crop stuff yet?”

“Aw, you’re such an old lady,” scoffs Cass, grabbing it from her. “I don’t know why you brought me here if you don’t want me in cropped shit, anyways.”

“Watch your tongue, young lady!” 

“Watch your coolness factor, _old lady_ , because it’s plummeting by the second.”

Dinah stays quiet after this. 

From Aeropostale Cass ends up getting the crop hoodie, a denim jacket, a couple of strangely fashionable T-shirts (she doesn’t get how they’re more fashionable than regular T-shirts, but somehow they are), a pair of high-rise black skinny jeans with an absurd quantity of buttons, a baseball cap advertising a sports team Cass has never heard of, and a pair of white, high-rise, almost athletic-looking shorts. At the last minute, Cass gets Dinah to buy her a neon green fanny pack and a black belt with sharp, silver spikes jutting out from it, both of which are ironic purchases (okay, so maybe not _entirely_ ironic). She mostly just gets the fanny pack because it reminds her of something Harley might wear. 

“Thanks for shopping with me,” she tells Dinah as they’re nearing Harley’s apartment.

“Anytime, kid,” says Dinah, giving Cass a kind smile as she ruffles her hair. 

When they knock, Helena answers, looking grumpy as usual as she admits the pair into the living space.

“Here’s your card,” says Dinah cheerily, handing Helena the aforementioned card. 

“You used it, right?” says Helena suspiciously. Dinah cringes guiltily away from her and Helena sighs. “Dinah! I _told_ you to use the fucking card!”

“I didn’t want to spend your goddamn money, H. Don’t you get that?” 

“I didn’t just give you my card for kicks and giggles. I have so much money that I have no idea what to do with it, and if I don’t spend a good chunk of it soon I might just fucking cry, so I hope you’re happy.” She stomps exasperatedly away.

Cass smiles, throwing her purchases down onto the well-worn coffee table. They’re hardly a conventional family, but Cass likes them all right all the same.

  
  



	2. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah learns how to make Helena laugh.

Renee circles Dinah and Helena like some sort of furious, weirdly short vulture. She has a look of concentration on her face as she dramatically produces a hair tie from her pocket and pulls her hair back. Some of it falls messily around her face.

“Alright,” she declares, her gaze growing into a scrutinizing glare. “Now, you two’ve got some fight in you. We’ve gotta bring it out.”

Dinah raises her eyebrows. An amused scoff rises from her throat. “Hang on, are we about to have an _inspirational training montage?_ My God, it’s Christmas come early.” 

Helena can’t quite help a quiet smirk. Renee’s glare grows into a furious death glare.

“Lance!” she howls. “Now, you take me seriously. We gotta keep this city squeaky clean.”

“Gotham?” says Dinah. “Yeah, officer, not gonna happen.” 

Helena takes her training _quite_ seriously--she’d had to, back when she’d been training to become a badass killing machine and her uncles would shout at her if she gave even ninety-nine percent--and yet, Dinah’s quips are making her giggle a little; she just can’t help it. 

Dinah catches her eye and grins. Helena sees a mischievous twinkle as Renee hammers on.

“Now, you two ladies have got it. You can throw a punch. Know your way around a blade, yeah?” Helena nods very seriously. “Well, we’ve gotta train that. Turn the pair of you into well-oiled machines.”

“Machines?” Mockingly, Dinah grimaces, trying to act pain as she clutches at her chest and sinks more towards the grass beneath their feet. “Yikes. Montoya, where’s the _emotion?_ The passion? The motivation? What’s my motivation? Because this sounds like a sad, sad world.” 

Renee’s face goes as red as a tomato, her voice a little squeaky. She reaches a hand at Dinah, looking to grab her by the scruff of some nonexistent collar before realizing she’s in a sports bra and instead opting to go on her tiptoes and simply loom. Impendingly, of course. 

“Now, Dinah, you listen to me!” she barks. “You’re gonna take me seriously, Lance, or you’re going to pay the price. If you can’t speak resp _ectfully_ to me, I--I’ll throw you against the wall!” 

Dinah fixes her with an innocent gaze and says, in a sweet voice, “but Renee, you can’t throw me up against a wall. I’ve got fight in me.” 

Renee bites down on her lip and simply _seethes_ for a moment before stepping away from Dinah in a stomp and letting out a frustrated scream. 

“Aaaaaaa _aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!_ You--you-- _aaahhhhh!”_

Then they both turn around. Dinah is torn from her teasing, Renee from her rage, by the unlikely sight of Helena laughing. Not just laughing. She’s crying laughing. A real guffaw, a sound which hasn’t come out of her mouth in years. She’s laughed, for sure, but not like this. She’s not been able to _not stop_ laughing, and the feeling, while exhilarating, is also liberating. Helena, for a moment, just doesn’t care as she cackles at the expense of the shorter woman, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. 

“Okay, okay,” she gasps when she’s done, unable to wipe the wide smile from her face. “Let’s train, you guys.” 

From that moment forward, it seems like Dinah’s made it her mission in life to make Helena laugh. Every spare moment she’s cracking a joke, doing something ridiculous or embarrassing that could potentially draw a chuckle from Helena. And whenever she succeeds, she looks so proud of herself; quite frankly, it’s adorable. 

It takes a while for Dinah to find something that Helena finds to be as hilarious as when she makes Renee angry, though. When she finally does, it’s an accident, but she exploits the hell out of it. 

They’re at the bar one day, Dinah, Helena, and Renee, after a particularly long day fighting crime. Dinah’s the designated driver and Helena hasn’t had much to drink yet so they’re both sober. Renee is anything but and has run off somewhere. 

“Man,” notes Dinah, nodding appreciatively at the performer currently onstage as Helena takes a sip of her drink, “being a bar singer, I usually have pretty high standards for this kind of thing, but this woman is really knocking my socks off.”

Helena snorts, coughing her drink back out into her cup and leaving her throat stinging. “I’m sorry, she’s doing _what_? Do I need to avenge your socks or something?”

Dinah turns to Helena, bemused. “What? No. It’s just…” She trails off. “I don’t know. A thing people say.” 

Helena glances down at Dinah’s feet. She’s wearing sandals.

“But Dinah, you’re not even wearing socks.” 

Dinah’s smiling for some reason. The wider her smile goes the more Helena feels like she’s missing something. “What?”

“Helena, I’m not talking about literal socks,” she explains. “It’s an expression for when you’re amazed by somebody. Like, for example, Helena, you knock my socks off.”

“I would never!” Helena feels scandalized by the accusation that she would do anything to Dinah’s socks, even if it’s not literal. 

Dinah’s biting back laughter now. Helena can tell by the way her cheeks are red, and starts laughing herself. 

“Wh-what kind of expression is that?” she gasps through her laughter. “Why would anybody _say_ that?”

“I don’t know,” says Dinah. “Do you want to hear another one?”

Helena nods.

“If you stop doing something abruptly, you’re going cold turkey.”

At this, Helena can’t stop laughing. She just can’t. She couldn’t tell you why. Something about the expression _cold turkey_ and the idea of _knocking somebody’s socks off_. 

Dinah, as per usual, is bursting with pride.

“Silly Americans,” says Helena with a smirk. 

For the next two months, Helena will, at random intervals, find some excuse to use a strange American idiom and then spend the next five minutes cackling. Renee gets annoyed of it. Helena sometimes hears her begging Dinah to _please, for the love of God, stop telling her this shit_ but Dinah always disobeys, giving Helena more fun phrases every day.

At one point, they’ve finished taking down a bunch of drug lords and Dinah says, “wow. Those criminals really got my goat.” 

Helena finds this beyond hilarious. Passersby see her laughing hysterically by a pile of unconscious bodies with a drop of blood dripping down her cheek and think she’s a psychopath. 

Then, there’s the time when Helena marches into Dinah’s room, which she hasn’t cleaned in a little while, specifically for the purpose of regally announcing, “Dinah, you’ve got to get your ducks in a row!” 

Sometimes Helena uses phrases in a way that normal people might, like when Harley and Cass are in her apartment and she comments that they’re like bulls in a china shop. But then she also sometimes butchers them, like when Dinah goes to bed early and Helena comments that she’s gone belly up. Everybody is horrified by that one. 

It’s great.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed. not my best work but that's not really the point of these lol


	3. Report Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Helena and Dinah (and Harley, at least to some extent) finally crack down on Cass's rather horrific grades.

“Uh, guys?” Helena enters the sitting room of Harley’s apartment with a piece of paper in her hands.

“Yeah?” Harley seems entirely uninterested, not rising from the couch which she is sprawled across. She yawns loudly and Helena suspects she’s been recently woken from a nap.

Dinah, at least, has the good grace to turn in Helena’s direction.

“What’s that?” She points at the paper.

“I found it in Cass’s backpack,” Helena admits; she’s a little embarrassed at having been snooping around the aforementioned backpack in the first place. 

“Why were you in Cass’s backpack?” asks Dinah. Not judgmentally, but is still makes Helena redden in her shame. Cass deserves her privacy as much as the rest of them, and Helena knows that she, for one, would bash the head of anybody with the audacity to go through _her_ stuff right in.

“Doesn’t matter,” says Helena quickly. In truth, she’d been looking for books. She knows high schoolers have to read books, and Helena, an elementary school dropout (by no fault of her own, thank you very much) had been wondering what kind of books were considered classic literature in America. Maybe looking to read a little to amend her frankly awful reading skills.

Sometimes people notice Helena isn’t that great with words, but they always end up assuming it’s because English isn’t her first language (which is hardly true, given that Helena had lived in America up until eight years old). So it’s not like anyone’s judging her for it. Helena’d just like to learn for herself, is all. 

“So, what’s the nerd paper?” Harley wants to know.

“It’s a report card,” says Helena darkly. “Not a very happy one.”

“So?” says Harley. She still seems indifferent, but Helena has at least caught Dinah’s attention.

“How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad.” Helena hands Dinah the report card for her to look over. Helena has memorized its contents:

_English: C-_

_PE: B+_

_Algebra: F_

_Social Studies: D-_

_Biology: D+_

_Horticulture: F-_

_Art: C+_

_French: F_

“Oh, geez,” groans Dinah upon finishing her reading of the contents of the paper. “How the hell do you get an F in French?”

“Our dear Cass managed,” says Harley from her spot on the couch. “Gosh. I’m so proud of her.” 

“It isn’t funny,” says Helena sharply, surprising all of them. “We’re responsible for Cass. We need to make sure she does well in school.

Harley scoffs.

“No, Helena’s right,” Dinah backs Helena up. Helena gives her an appreciative glance. “We need to get her involved. Give her a relatively normal high school experience and get her into a decent college, if that’s the path she chooses. That’s on _us_ now.” 

“Hmm.” Harley considers. “We can get her up to an A- in PE if we can just get her to stop ditching.”

“Cass ditches PE?” This is a revelation which is somewhat alarming to Helena.

“Uh- _duh,”_ says Harley, earning her a death glare. 

Helena, upon hearing this, puts two and two together--she had never actually shown Harley the paper, which means…“you mean Cass showed this to you?”

Harley just shrugs noncommittally. 

“Great,” says Dinah. “That way it won’t seem like we invaded her privacy.”

“But we totally did,” Helena points out. “Or, at least, I did.” 

“Why do we care?” Harley complains. 

“I would think you would give a shit about grades, Ms. _I-Have-A-PHD_ ,” Dinah snarks. 

“That’s Dr. _I-Have-A-PHD_ to you.” Harley crossly sticks out her tongue at Dinah.

“Guys, we’re getting off topic,” Helena scolds, sparing a glare for each woman. “The point isthat we need to help Cass get her grades up so she can have a decent life.” 

“Good grades don’t equal happiness,” says Harley solemnly. “Believe me, ladies. I know firsthand.” 

“Yeah, well you’re a psychopath,” Dinah dismisses with a wave of her hand. 

“Guys, what’s horticulture?” Harley asks, changing the topic.

“Oh, for f--” Helena sucks in a breath. “You’re in a serious relationship with a fucking plant, Harley.” 

“Pammie’s not a plant,” Harley disputes, finally having the good grace to sit up in her chair.

“Harley, she’s literally green,” Dinah reminds her. 

“Whatever horticulture is,” Harley says, apparently choosing to ignore the fact that Dinah has more or less won the argument, “Cass must really suck at it. It takes _talent_ to get an F-. Dedication. I’m so proud.” She wipes a nonexistent tear from one eye. 

“No!” Helena slams her fists on the granite countertop (ouch). “I’m not just going to sit by and let Cass waste her life. High school _matters._ So maybe it was all good when she was in middle school, but this is real.”

Dinah gives her an appreciative look. “I’m in.” 

They both look to Harley, who scowls. “Blugh. Lame.” 

“But we love Cass,” Dinah argues. “Don’t we, H?”

Helena nods her confirmation. 

“See?” Dinah adds. 

“F _iiiii_ ne,” sighs Harley, because they all know she’s a softie at her core. 

“So, who’s gonna talk to her about it?” asks Helena. “Dinah would be the best at it, but Cass really respects Harley-- _God_ knows why, but she does.”

“She respects you, too,” says Dinah.

“Yeah, but I’m not good at talking to people.”

“You came in here and talked to all of us and convinced us to take action on an issue you care about,” Dinah retaliates. “You can be strict with her. I believe in you.” She gives Helena an affectionate punch on the arm. 

***

“Hey, Cass, come over here,” calls Helena the next day, trying for nonchalance. Cass has tagged along on one of their training sessions, since her school is over.

Of course, Cass sees right through it.

“Ugh. You’re using your lecture voice.”

“How do you know? I’ve never lectured you before.”

“First time for everything,” Cass mutters. Still, she obliges, making her way over to Helena. “Okay. What is it?” 

“I, um, Harley told us about your report card,” lies Helena. She knows lying to kids is a bad idea, but it’s just a little white lie, so she figures it won’t hurt anything.

“Oh.” Cass grins. “Pretty good, right?”

Harley is taken off guard by this. “Wh--how--”

“I mean,” Cass continues, “getting an F- takes dedication.”

“Uh, sure,” Helena tentatively agrees. “I was just thinking that, you know, we could probably get your grades a little higher if you...you know...effort and all that…” The last part is mumbled. 

Cass laughs at first, clearly thinking Helena is kidding. Then she realizes that the woman’s being serious and her face falls. “Dude. I don’t need good grades. I’ve got a mentorship thing going on. With Harley.”

“Cass, you _do_ realize that that’s--”

“Not a very promising prospect, I know,” Cass cuts her off. “But Harley does pretty well for herself, man. I admire her.” 

“Given the circumstances, sure,” says Helena extremely tentatively. “It’s far from an ideal living situation, though.” 

“I disagree.”

“Okay, but Cass. Say Dinah, Harley, Renee and I all have our heads cut off.” This would be amusing if there were less of a possibility of it actually happening, and Helena instantly regrets the rather dark humor. Still, she plows forward. “You’re gonna need a plan. A job. Good grades--or, at least not catastrophic grades--will get you that.” 

“What do you know?” Helena knows the defensive look currently gracing Cass’s face: it mean that she knows there’s nothing she can say to convince Helena she’s wrong, even mentally acknowledging that, to some extent, she’s not, so she’s instead decided to go on the attack. This is the part where Cass can get rather scary (and, Helena being Helena, this is saying something). “You’re an elementary school dropout.” 

“Not my fault,” Helena counters. “Besides, that’s part of why I’m so worried about you and your grades. You know how much I would have loved a normal high school experience?” 

“Yeah, you say that, but you never actually went to high school so you don’t know how hellish it is.”

 _Shit._ Cass really has Helena backed into a corner now. Still, Helena has promised her friends that she won’t back down, so she doesn’t. 

“Cass? You’re getting your damn grades up. Harley’s gonna stop taking you out of PE, and you’re going to turn in your work in all of your other classes, and you’re actually going to give a shit. You hear me?”

When Helena wants to be scary, she can do so pretty effectively, which is probably how she’s finally gotten through to Cass, who just nods. 

“Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one! I may do a follow-up later showing Cass actually working to improve her grades and Helena helping her or something like that, but that just depends on how bored I get in the coming months ;)


	4. Birds In The Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Birds cook Thanksgiving dinner and discuss some rather weird traditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thing I wrote for Thanksgiving :)

“...and so that’s why we celebrate Thanksgiving,” finishes Dinah, having spent the last five minutes or so attempting to explain the tradition of American Thanksgiving to Helena who, having lived most of her American adult life seeking a violent, bloody revenge on those who had wronged her in the past, had been a bit fuzzy on the subject. 

“So you’re saying we just pretend this Columbus guy _wasn’t_ a huge asshole?” Helena demands, violently throwing her knife down onto an unsuspecting apple. It hits the cutting board with a heavy _ker-thunk_. 

“Easy with that apple,” Dinah advises, wincing away from the knife.

“Do you want pie or not?”

“I want pie,” chimes in Cass from across the room. “Please keep going.”

“You heard the girl,” Renee agrees with a lackluster shrug. “Therapeutic, I would imagine.” 

“No.” Helena grits her teeth. _Ker-thunk_. “Just how I do things.” 

Okay, so maybe it _is_ a little therapeutic. Helena still hasn’t admitted to having rage issues, though, so she won’t say as much. 

“Y’know,” calls Harley from the other room, having been banished from the kitchen, “Thanksgiving as a whole is _pretty_ dangerous. There used to be this thing in Arkansas where they threw turkeys out of airplanes.”

“That’s stupid,” Renee comments, pulling a beer from the fridge. “How’re you supposed to eat them?”

“Oh, woman, you’ve got the wrong idea.” Harley chuckles that dark chuckle which wouldn’t be scary if it weren’t for memory of the various gorey events which it has preceded. “The turkeys were alive.”

Helena, while having absolutely zero mercy for humans, has a soft spot for turkeys and winces at this mental image. “Jesus _Christ!” Ker-thunk._ “Humans are fucking disgusting.” 

“Right?” Dinah agrees. 

“Although,” Helena continues, “one could argue that that’s less Thanksgiving being dangerous and more people being dangerously stupid. I mean, what if one lands on a kids? Guts everywhere.” 

“Cool,” marvels Cass. “Harley, can we drop turkeys from a plane this year?”

“If you can get a plane and some turkeys I’m all for it, kid,” Harley shoots back. 

“No,” Renee cuts in harshly. “I’m with Crossbow on this one.”

“Thank you,” says Helena gratefully. Her knife sails down on another apple. _Ker-thunk_. 

“Say,” Cass muses, “if I put one of those on my head could you shoot if off,”

“Yes,” confirms Helena instantly. “I mean, no,” she amends upon seeing the look on Dinah’s face. “I mean, I could, but I won’t. Because that would be dangerous.”

“When did you become so safety-conscious?” complains Harley. 

“I’m _not safety-conscious!”_ howls Helena with one last, spirited _ker-thunk._ Everyone winces. 

“Okay, give me the knife,” says Dinah immediately. Helena obeys, though not without a scowl. “You can work on the, uh, cranberry sauce.”

“So you mean we’re not getting the canned stuff?” calls a dismayed Harley.

“Absolutely not!” Helena is disgusted by the very idea. 

“But that stuff’s _good,”_ Harley complains. “Why not?”

“Because I have fucking standards,” Helena declares in a mutter, wandering over to the stove to work on the cranberry sauce. Admittedly, there’s not much left to do; all cranberry sauce really requires is some cranberries, a pot, and ten minutes worth of patience. Helena only lacks the latter. 

“Yeah, well you’re Italian,” Harley rebuts. “Your standards are insane.” 

“And you’re American,” Helena replies instantly. “Your standards are nonexistent.”

“Ouch.” Despite Harley being in the other room, Helena can hear the way she smacks a dramatically wounded hand over her chest. 

“That’s enough, ladies,” calls Renee. 

“Can I help with the crust?” Harley asks.

“No,” yell Dinah and Helena simultaneously.

“Aw. Why not?”

“Because you’re a walking disaster,” explains Dinah.

“Because you might forget to sieve the flour,” says Helena at the same time. Dinah giggles. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” dismisses Dinah.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” says Cass, “but why are you two the only ones cooking?”

“They’re the only ones who know how,” Renee explains. 

“That’s true,” Dinah agrees. “Helena, grab me a half-cup?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My source for the turkey thing in Arkansas: https://www.upc-online.org/turkeys/151014_yellville_turkey_drop_festival_of_death.html
> 
> Not sure how credible it is. That's alright given that Harley was the one who brought it up. Sorry if I ruined your appetite for turkey. Happy Thanksgiving!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated :)


End file.
